To Do What Must Be Done
by oldmule
Summary: Harry appears to have lost it and taken drastic action with Ruth! Now with 2 epilogues!
1. Chapter 1

"Harry, stop it. What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"Like you're tying me to the chair."

"Then, I think you'll find that that's what I'm doing."

"Oww!"

"Oh, sorry, Ruth. Are you okay?"

"Yes, it just pulled a little, but it's fine now."

"Good, that's good," he said gently.

She paused for a moment and thought about what she had just said.

"Actually, no it's not okay! What am I saying! You're tying me to a chair. Stop it now and let me loose."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I've used cable ties and I haven't got a knife."

"Well, scissors. Use scissors."

"I've lost them."

"Oh for heaven's sake, just let me go!"

"No."

"No?"

"No, I'm doing it for a reason, Ruth. There's no point in me letting you go, before I've done it."

"Done what?"

She looked at him and for the first time began to worry if everything that had happened in the last few weeks had finally tipped him over the edge.

"Done what I need to do, Ruth."

He stood back and admired his handy work.

She sat. Not that she had any other choice.


	2. Chapter 2

"I think it's about time you started explaining yourself, Harry."

He opened his mouth to speak but she decided she hadn't actually finished.

"No, it's time you let me go, that's what it's time for!"

"Would you like a drink, Ruth?"

She looked at him aghast.

"You lure me to your house under false pretences, you tie me to a chair and then you ask me if I want a drink. Can you spot the slightly incongruous part of that sentence, Harry?"

"I have tea, or wine," he smiled, "and scotch, obviously."

"Harry, what I want, you seem unwilling to give me."

"You don't know what you want, Ruth. Not really."

"Yes, I do. I want to be not tied to this bloody chair!"

"I'll just get myself one, then," said Harry and walked out of the kitchen.

"Harry! Harry!"

He didn't come back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Last one for tonight. More tomorrow.**

* * *

Harry downed two large measures and wondered if he could claim temporary insanity.

What had he done?

What he _had_ done, could not be undone.

He had simply done what must be done.

And if he hadn't, then sure enough, that was the way madness lay.

* * *

"Harry this isn't funny anymore….not that it ever was."

"I'm sorry Ruth, but there's no other way."

"Well, if you told me what the hell was going on, then I'm sure that I could disabuse you of that belief."

Harry looked at her.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink?"

Her glare was sufficient answer.

He pulled up a chair from the table and sat down before her.

"Is it not obvious what this is about, Ruth?"

"Not from where I'm sitting," she said bitterly.

He took a deep breath.

"Albany didn't work."

Ruth's furious eyes, glaring from under her lowered brow, blinked. The muscles around her mouth and eyes, that were working hard to scowl at him, gave up the effort. Her chin which was tucked aggressively into her chest, relaxed and lifted. Her face tilted up towards him, suddenly soft and open with surprise.

"Is that true, Harry?"

"Yes."

The glare began to resurface.

"Would I ever lie to you, Ruth?" he added quickly.

"Yes, frequently."

"Only when necessary."

"What, like telling me it could kill entire ethnic groups, that kind of necessary?"

"Yes, exactly."

She sighed with exasperation.

"You're meant to be pleased that I didn't give away a weapon of mass destruction to save you."

"Yes, well, I may have been if I wasn't tied to a chair."

They looked at each other and neither moved. Not that Ruth could.

"Now that you've told me, can you let me loose?"

"No. That's not why I tied you up."

"Harry?"

"I don't mean…well, it's nothing like that…not what you're thinking.. you know,."

"Right now, I don't know what I'm thinking, other than you might be having some kind of breakdown."

"You might be right, Ruth."

"Oh well, that's very encouraging."

"You still haven't said anything about Albany."

His look was needy but she was still too annoyed for it to affect her.

"What do you want me to say, Harry?"

"That you're glad. That you still have some respect left for me. That it makes a difference. That it makes you hate me less."

He wanted to say 'that it might make you love me more', but he couldn't. At this moment he was in doubt that she had ever loved him at all.

She failed to say anything.

"Does it make no difference?"

"Yes, Harry, it makes a difference."

"Thank you, Ruth…thank you," he whispered.

She looked at him, "Now tell me why you've tied me to a chair."


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you hungry?"

"What?"

"Would you like something to eat?"

"No, I'd like you to answer my question."

"In good time. Besides, you're the analyst, Ruth. You work it out."

He got up and walked to the fridge.

"I don't want to work it out. I want to go home."

Harry paused and regarded her, he looked for all the world like he wanted to say something in response, but whatever it was he kept it to himself and instead opened the fridge door.

"I thought I might make us some pasta."

He reached in and pulled out mushrooms, peppers, tomatoes and spring onions.

"You do like pasta, don't you, Ruth?"

"Harry, have you lost your mind!"

"What? You don't like pasta?"

"Yes, I like pasta, my god, who doesn't not like pasta! You're doing it again. You're behaving like everything's perfectly normal, that I've come round for dinner and a drink. Harry, I'm a prisoner."

He smiled, "hardly a prisoner, Ruth."

"Well, what would you call it then?"

He pondered, "a hostage, perhaps…..a dinner hostage."

"Quick, tell the broadcasters, it could be a whole new take on 'Come Dine with Me,'" she said, vaguely apoplectic.

"What's that?"

"Oh, never mind. Just cook."

Harry turned away a little confused and began to measure some of the aforementioned pasta into a pan.

Ruth tried to focus her wild and angry thoughts into a useful direction. She tried to work out what the hell he was doing…besides making pasta!

"You said you didn't have a knife," she said calmly, as he began chopping the mushrooms.

He looked at it and then her.

"I lied," he said, with a wicked, but slightly endearing grin.

Ruth chastised herself for even beginning to think of him as endearing and instead muttered something incoherent.

"So how long are you planning on keeping me hostage, is it purely dinner hostage, or hostage for the night?"

"Oh," said Harry, "I'd not actually thought it through, to be quite honest. It depends how long it takes."

"How long what takes? Dinner?"

He nodded but she knew he wasn't talking about dinner.

She told herself to focus once more.

Harry moved her chair towards the table a little and placed a glass of white wine in front of her and turned away.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, "I'm going to really enjoy that."

He turned back and placed a straw in the glass and angled it towards her. "I thought white seemed less unseemly to drink this way than red."

"Of course. I always have my Chablis with a straw."

"It's white burgundy, Ruth."

He turned back to his chopping.

Ruth sighed and leant forward, realising it was actually quite easy to reach the drink and that it still tasted the same, straw or not. She might as well, she thought, after all she wasn't going anywhere.

Again she tried to focus but he was distracting her. Her eyes followed him around the room as he methodically prepared dinner. She had only ever been in his house twice, well, once really, once on the doorstep when she had raised her hand to knock and then fled and the second time to deliver some papers when she never made in past the hallway.

And now here she was, having dinner, watching him cook, drinking wine. It all sounded rather lovely if she excluded the straw and the fact that she was tied to his kitchen chair.

"I'll put some music on," he said.

"Oh, yes why not, dinner as a hostage just wouldn't be the same without some background music."

She smiled but it wasn't a happy smile.

He pressed play and glanced at her.

"Bill Withers," he said, "you can't help but feel happy listening to Bill Withers."

"Yes, Harry I feel very happy tied here, listening to 'Just the Two of Us'!"

"Wait a minute, Ruth I'll go and get a cloth so that I can wipe the dripping sarcasm from the floor. Now if you don't mind, I've got dinner to cook."

And so once more she had little to do but watch him and sip on her straw.

He had prepared most of the vegetables and now he was testing the pasta before throwing the mushroom into the pan.

He paused.

"I used to listen this to when you went to Cyprus," he said wistfully and then resumed what he was doing.

Ruth knew the song. Of course she did.

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone and she's always gone too long, any time she goes away. Wonder this time where she's gone, wonder if she's gone to stay..." sang Bill. And she listened.

"I thought you just said that you can't help but feel happy listening to Bill Withers?" she said, this time a little more softly.

"I lied," he said, "well, maybe just this track."

"Maybe it wasn't the best thing to listen to at the time."

"No it was the perfect thing, Ruth," and his eyes drifted away to the window and she suddenly had a sense of him, here in this kitchen, playing that song and gazing sadly out of the window thinking the same thoughts as her, as she sat in the sunshine so very far away.


	5. Chapter 5

"Nearly done," said Harry, stirring the pasta.

Ruth had said nothing for several minutes, she was too busy watching him as he pottered around the kitchen looking relaxed and at ease, taking an occasional sip of wine and tidying up after himself.

He put down the spoon and walked over to her chair and stood there.

He stood before her.

His eyes drifted over her face, his own filled with emotions, some of which she could read, others which passed fleetingly and were gone without her knowing them.

She wished she did know them.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said softly.

But he didn't move.

He reached out a hand and with the most featherlite of touches he stroked his fingers gently down her cheek. His eyes focused on the softness of her skin beneath his fingers.

And then he seemed to realise where he was and what he was doing and he turned and left the room.

Ruth could still feel his touch long after it left her.

It was the only thing on which she was focused.

Not the bands at her wrist.

Not the fact that she could not move.

Just the touch of his hand on her face.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a sharp blade.

Small knife, sharp blade.

It caught the lights from the kitchen and they glinted and were gone.

He held it firmly, his fingers curled around the handle.

He asked himself if he was doing the right thing.

It had to be done.


	7. Chapter 7

Her blood was redder that he had ever seen.

His stomach turned.

"Ruth…" he whispered.

But she wasn't listening.

He ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror breathing heavily.

His face stared back and he hated it.

What had he done.

He hadn't meant for this.

What had he done.

He looked at his hands as her blood trickled between his fingers.

What had he done.


	8. Chapter 8

A single drop of blood spread slowly outwards into the clarity of the white burgundy.

He looked down at her.

His face pained and suffering.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes, it bloody well does!"

"I am so, so sorry, Ruth."

"Amend hostage taking to attempted murder."

"If you hadn't wriggled I wouldn't have caught you. It's a very sharp knife."

"Yes, I know that, now!"

He pulled the bandage around her released hand.

"OW!"

"Sorry Ruth."

"Well, at least I'm fifty per cent free," her tone was not quite laden with the heavy sarcasm of before.

"And after the last effort, Harry, I almost don't want you to do the other one."

"I'm not going to."

"Oh. I'll be really still this time."

"No. I was only ever going to do one. Just so that you could eat dinner."

"Are you going to tell me what all this is about, Harry?" she asked, as she flexed her newly released, newly bandaged wrist.

"It's about dinner, Ruth," he said simply, turning to dish up the food.

"You could have just asked, you know, invited me, like normal people."

"You would have said no."

"I may not."

He looked at her.

"Yes, you're right, I would have said no. Especially if I'd known you were going to slice my finger off."

He placed a bowl down and handed her a fork.

"Don't exaggerate and dig in."

She did. She was hungry and it smelt good. In fact it tasted good.

He winced with her as she held the fork in her wounded hand.

"This is very nice," she said.

"You don't have to sound quite so surprised."

"I've seen what went in it," she said.

"Ah, you mean my secret ingredient?"

"I do. I've never seen anyone put mayonnaise in pasta before."

"Then you haven't lived, Ruth. It's the new thing in gastronomic circles."

She smiled. He noticed.

He also guiltily noticed the blood in her glass and poured a fresh one.

"You can have your straw back, if you're missing it?"

"I think I'll manage, thank you."

His eyes were bright and mischievous.

"Even with a badly mutilated hand?"

"Yes even with that."

And as she held his gaze, Bill was still singing in the background.

"_Then I look at you and the world's alright with me. Just one look at you and I know it's gonna be….a lovely day"_

Harry's eyes were fixed on her.

For him, any day with her was indeed a lovely day.

"Is all this so I wouldn't run away?" she asked quietly.

"From me or my cooking?"

"Both."

"Would you have done?"

"Yes."

He hesitated.

"I needed to tell you something."

"You could have written me a letter, legally you would have been on safer ground than kidnapping."

"Hostage taking, Ruth."

"Of course. And assault."

"I believe you said attempted murder."

"You're right. That as well."

He waited for their smiles to eventually fade, before he spoke again.

"I needed to show you something."

"What? Show me, what?"

He shook his head gently.

"Not yet."

His face was determined.

"Is this still to do with Albany, Harry?'

He nodded.

"You don't need to feel any guilt, or regret that you're safe. I protected one of my officers and the only thing I risked was me. It wasn't your turn, Ruth, nor was it mine. Not this time."

She thought about the moment she had been told a body had fallen. She thought of how her thoughts plummeted to Harry. She thought about how she couldn't hold back the tears, no matter how much she tried.

"But what about next time?"

"Next time, is next time. We can't exist in a world of 'what ifs'. And we certainly can't close ourselves off and live in fear of the future."

"Then what can we do?"

"We can just learn to live, Ruth."

* * *

A/N Sorry to put you through it but Lady J kind of dared me and I was feeling mischievous! More to come...tonight.


	9. Chapter 9

"Have you had enough?"

"Yes, it was really tasty, thank you."

He smiled, took their plates and suddenly stopped.

"I haven't got any dessert, Ruth."

He had just realised. It had been the last thing on his mind.

"Well, what kind of a hostage holding host are you, Harry."

"Try saying that with another glass of wine," he laughed.

"I think I've had enough, quite honestly. It's gone to my head."

"Must have been the straw," he joked.

"Oh god."

"What? What's wrong, Ruth?"

"Nothing it just reminded me. You know, the times as a student you'd drink lager and cider through a straw!"

"Why?"

"To get drunk quicker."

"Lager and cider? Two drinks I wouldn't necessarily associate you with."

"Not two drinks Harry. Lager and cider together. Bloody lethal. Have you never had it."

"No," he answered with distaste.

"You haven't lived Harry. Hey, it could be the perfect accompaniment to mayonnaise pasta."

"Very funny. Now shall I pop out and get you a litre of each or would a cup of tea do?"

"Oh, a cup of tea would do very nicely…but only if you have biscuits."

"Biscuits I can manage."

He resumed his pottering in the kitchen and this time she watched him warmly, comfortably, even happily.

He picked up their two mugs and headed to the living room, "can you bring the biscuits?" he said as he went out of the door.

"Harry?"

He put the cups down on the coffee table.

"They're on the side," he called.

"Harry."

He walked back into the kitchen.

Ruth sat looking at him.

"They're here, Ruth," he said picking up a packet of gingernuts and a pack of something chocolatey, "Come on, we can relax next door."

"Shall I bring my chair with me?" said Ruth, trying to move her restrained arm.

"Or is there something else in there you might like to tie me to?"

Harry started laughing and Ruth, try as she might not to, followed suit.

"I'll unfasten you," he said.

"How drunk are you? I've only got one good hand left."

"Don't worry, I promise not to cut you this time."

"That's a relief."

"As long as you promise two things, Ruth."

"Go on."

"Firstly promise not to move."

"That I can do, most solemnly."

"And secondly promise you won't leave….not yet."

She looked at him seriously.

"Well seeing as you've gone to so much trouble to show me something, it would be rude to leave before you did."

"Good. Thank you, Ruth."

And he leant over her with the knife and she held her breath, not because he might cut her but because he was so close she could feel the warmth of him.


	10. Chapter 10

**The end is nigh - poss epilogue after this chapter. Hope you are still with me, as it's all gone very quiet.

* * *

**

"How's it feel to be free?"

"Liberating."

He smiled.

"Look," she said, "two hands" and she dunked a gingernut into her tea.

"Very impressive, Ruth," he smiled.

As she raised it to her lips the biscuit sagged and the soggy half tumbled back into her mug.

"Oh, bugger!"

Harry laughed, "Very, very impressive."

She sighed and put the cup down.

"Here, I'll make you another," said Harry, reaching for it.

"No, I'll do it, " she said, her hand sliding round the mug as Harry's reached out and enclosed hers. They connected and she looked at him, without pulling her hand away.

"Do you want a refill, Harry?"

"Thanks, he said and unwillingly he unwrapped his hand from hers, "do you know where everything is?"

"Yes, I was watching you."

He looked at her.

"There was not a lot else that I could do."

"No, you were a little tied up," he smiled.

"Very good," she said patiently and headed out.

Harry sat and watched her. He watched the woman he had loved for so long, in his house, going to his kitchen, making him tea. He didn't know how long it would last but he determined to enjoy it while he could.

She sat back down.

"I think it's time, Harry."

"Time for what?"

"Time for you to show me."

He sipped his tea.

"What ever it is, just show me."

He didn't move.

"Show me, Harry."

He smiled. "I have done."

"What?"

"I have shown you, already."

"You've shown me nothing other than how to use cable ties, cook with mayonnaise and slice a finger off."

His smile was now wistful.

"Then I've failed. I was trying to show you more than that."

"What, Harry, please?"

"You tell me."

She looked confused, bewildered, lost.

"Work the numbers, Ruth. It's what you do."

"But I don't understand you've shown me nothing."

He looked away and begged himself to be patient.

She focused and started from the beginning.

"You wanted me to stay. You needed me here for longer than just a conversation," she began, working it through like a stream of consciousness, in search of the moment where it all began to knit together and make sense, any sort of sense.

"You wanted me to stay and gave me no choice, no chance, no chance of leaving and therefore no thoughts of leaving. You wanted me here to stay, even if unwillingly for a period of time, to show me something."

It was still no clearer.

"Long enough…enough time to show me… something. Time ...spent cooking, talking…. watching you cook, seeing you cook. Seeing you…. at home….time to be with you at home…. to see your home. "

And finally it was knitting together.

"To see you?….the man.…Harry….to see the man you are?"

Harry nodded slightly as she rushed on now, the picture clearer and clearer to her.

"To see, what…the normality? No. The possibility? To see the possibility of normality with you. Is that it?"

He took a deep breath.

"I wanted to show you what you couldn't see, Ruth. What seemed unimaginable to you. You said to me, what would we do in a cottage in Sussex. I wanted to show you what we could do, here, there…anywhere, at work, or not. We could live, Ruth, that's what we'd do. We'd live. I just wanted to show you that. To show you us."

He gazed at her but needed to keep speaking while he had the chance, perhaps the only chance.

"Together we're fine. Hopeless. But fine."

She smiled.

"Add other people, add work, add gossip, add things beyond our control and we're not fine, we struggle. But don't you see, the important thing is that you and I together can work, Ruth, because we're the two that count. And if we live and love, then the rest can go to hell because they won't matter and they won't touch us, not really."

She looked at him but said nothing.

"Can you see it Ruth, can you see what I was trying to show you?"

"I can see it."

"Can you believe it?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Ruth, please tell me. Can you ever imagine that you might want that?"

"Do I want a knife wealding, meglomaniac with an unhealthy obsession for mayonnaise?"

"Yes, all that, not to mention an unhealthy interest in bondage."

He smirked but his eyes were filled with doubt and hope and need and love.

"Do you want that, Ruth? Do you want me? Can you see me?"

"I can see you, Harry. And I can see what you've been showing me. I can see a lot of things."

He waited.

"And I want more than you..."

He stopped waiting. Lost.

"…I want all that you can give me. I want all of you...

Harry.….I want us."

If a soul could sigh, Harry's did.

"How do you feel right now, Ruth?"

"Hopeful. Happy. Alive.

"How do you feel, Harry?

"Whole."


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

They sat.

Her on the sofa, him in the chair.

They sat and they looked and they wondered what to do.

So hopeless were they.

Not lacking in hope but just ridiculously hopeless.

Neither spoke.

Harry was too satisfied with the thought that he'd finally broken through the walls she had always thrown up around herself.

Ruth was too stunned that something she had spent months wrestling with, was now so simply resolved. She reconsidered, 'simply' was not the term for what had happened tonight.

"Harry?"

"Yes."

"What do we do now?"

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"I've got more cable ties."

"Don't even think about it...well, at least not tonight."

He smirked.

"An hour or two ago, Ruth, you said you wanted to go home."

She gazed at him.

"I am home, Harry."

His heart felt full.

"It's late," he said, "let's go to bed."

* * *

A/N I'm actually getting quite worried. I've handcuffed them together, tied Ruth up and gagged and bound them in a cell. Perhaps it's me with a strange bondage fetish! Anyway hope, you enjoyed.


	12. Really the end

The previous epilogue was merely an epilogue to this epilogue. This is in fact is the end. For Fozzy88.

* * *

Ruth's eyes opened and the first thing she saw was her bandaged hand.

Her sleepy eyes were suddenly wide awake.

She held her breath and turned slowly and carefully.

She knew what she was expecting to see, but she was not prepared for what she did see.

She expected it to be Harry.

It was a man. A man whose face looked so different lying there on the pillow beside her. A man whom she'd never seen like this before. A man whose expression was so peaceful, so untroubled, so at rest….so wonderful.

She felt overwhelmed with the joy at having woken first. She felt overwhelmed at the strength of her own feelings. She felt an ache of longing and love for this man whom she knew so well and yet felt like she was knowing for the very first time.

She didn't want to wake him, she wanted to watch him. She felt the need, as she always did, to analyse every part of her emotions, and what she found there was a depth of emotion she had thought herself no longer capable of. No, scratch that, she thought, this was a depth of emotion she had never felt.

She heard Harry's mobile ringing downstairs and her eyes darted to to see if it would disturb him.

He was well lost to the land of sleep.

She glanced at the clock over his shoulder and saw with horror that it was 8.30.

She should be on the grid, halfway through the nightly reports. And Harry, well he should be with the Home Secretary in fifteen minutes.

Her hand reached out to wake him but then hovered uncertainly.

They had waited so very long for each other, it seemed only reasonable that the HS could wait a little longer too.

She rested her hand gently on his chest and went back to watching him, getting to know him, loving him, lying there.


End file.
